Woke Up Like This(38)

“Mom?” I call.

“It’s me. Let me in. I need to pee!”

I open the door and she waltzes in, all smiles, a little flushed from the alcohol. “Gosh, this is the tenth time I’ve peed in an hour.”

“I think you just really love the bidet.”

She smirks. “I have a love-hate relationship with it. The first time I tried, I got splashed directly in the mouth. But it has a heated seat so I think I can forgive.” She rattles on about the various features for the entire length of her pee before pausing to study my face. “You seem a little . . . overwhelmed tonight. All the attention getting to you?”

“I just . . . I don’t know,” I say, dazed, afraid to say too much.

“You don’t know about what?”

“Everything. The wedding . . .”

She peers at me. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

You could say that. “What if I was? I mean, do you really think I’m ready for marriage? I’m only seven—” I stop myself. “Thirty.”

“You’ve always been more mature than everyone your age.” She sighs. “I’m not one to talk when it comes to marriage advice, but I do know this. I’ve never seen you happier than when you’re with J. T.”

“You say that like I was never happy without him.”

“It’s just . . . you’ve always been so careful. Grounded. Unwilling to let loose and have fun.” Her expression darkens. “I know it’s because of me. That you aways felt like you had to keep things together. But he brings out a side of you I haven’t seen since before Dad left.”

There’s a lot to unpack there, too much for this moment, so I settle for, “Speaking of Dad . . . he’s not here. Shocker.”

She levels me with her look. “You know he would be here if he could.”

Would he, though?

“Speaking of the wedding, do you still want me to come by your room early for hair and makeup?” she asks. “I know they’re doing the bridal party first but—”



My mind snags on her words. “Bridal party,” I repeat, flooded with the memory of Kassie and me tanning on her deck that first summer we met, scrolling through wedding dress photos on her mom’s tablet.

“As my future maid of honor, you’re obligated to tell me if the dress I pick is as atrocious as this one,” she’d said, cringing at a couture dress made exclusively of feathers.

“Wait. You want me to be your maid of honor?” I asked, eyes wide and hopeful. We’d only been friends for a month.

Being her friend already felt like winning the lottery. But being her designated future maid of honor was something entirely different. I felt like a teen hero in a fantasy novel who was prophesied to save the world. The chosen one.

And that’s when it hits me. Kassie isn’t here tonight. Where is she?

“Mom? Who’s in my wedding party?” I ask.

“Your wedding party?” she repeats, bewildered. “You decided to have one person each, remember? J. T. has Ollie, you have Nori.”

I shake my head. “No. I wouldn’t leave Kassie out.”

She shoots me a funny look. “Kassie? You haven’t spoken to Kassie in years. You aren’t friends anymore.”

“We’re not?” I blink, unable to compute.

“At least, not that I’m aware of. You drifted apart. Are you sure you’re okay?”

My mouth dries and my stomach twists and turns, as though someone’s wrung it like a dishcloth.

Drifted apart. The words grate, refusing to settle in my gut. There must be a reason. Some sort of falling-out. Bad blood. A fight or disagreement that knocked us off course. Drifting apart is neutral, almost cold. Did we really just apathetically decide not to put any more effort in? That our friendship was no longer worth it? Somehow apathy hurts more than any theoretical fight we could ever have. Because here’s the thing. You fight with people you love. You ignore people you don’t care about. Kind of like Dad.

I clutch my gut, afraid I might hurl.



How could this even happen? I don’t believe for one moment that I’d just let us “drift apart” for no solid reason.

Mom keeps talking, but her words are echoey and garbled, as though we’re stuck in a fishbowl. All I can hear is the blood rushing through my ears. I repeat the words again silently. Kassie and I haven’t spoken in years. We aren’t friends anymore. Everything has changed.

I need to get out of here. Now.





SIXTEEN



Please work. Please work,” I plead to whatever cosmic force is to blame for this mess. Beads of sweat pour down my forehead as I scan my pass on the school door for the fifth time. No dice.

Renner sighs from his perch, slumped against the door. “It’s locked, Char.”

After the bathroom at Ollie’s, Renner and I went straight to the school with an unspoken urgency, entirely forgetting that it’s locked after hours for security purposes. I learned this when Ms. Chouloub and I got locked out after Halloween dance prep. We had to store the leftover decor in her car overnight.

I rattle the door again, kicking it for good measure, as if it will magically open with my rage.

“We’ll have to come back tomorrow morning. Students will be here to finish decorating before prom,” Renner says.